 |
 |
 |
|
|
|---|
|
Robert Morgan
First published as Ch.2, in After
Eve,
edited by Janet Martin Soskice.
Collins Marshall Pickering,
1990
Reproduced on our website with the necessary permissions
The sub-title of this collection,
Women, Theology and the Christian Tradition, was intended to invite
contributors either to select some historical aspect of that tradition's
material concerning women, or to take up the methodological issue of how anyone
doing theology, i.e. seeking to understand and communicate Christian faith,
should handle this sometimes difficult and embarrassing material. Neither
alternative involves actually doing 'feminist theology'. Most of us doubted
that we were in a position to do it, but hoped that drawing up some of the
relevant material or discussing how it might be used would encourage others
better placed and equipped to perform what we agreed to be an important and
necessary task. What follows will therefore not venture beyond
prolegomena.
Such modesty was appropriate, at least on the part of
the male historians, exegetes and theologians involved. If feminist theology
were merely the ideological arm of a campaign to bring freedom and justice to
women in the Church it might actually be more appropriate for men to take up
the burden, and fulfil the law of Christ in love for the neighbour. But without
minimising the Christian's commitment to justice, and the place of theology in
that struggle, the main contribution of feminist theology should surely be
found elsewhere.
Theology involves interpreting the tradition in the
light of experience, and vice versa, and the essential contribution of feminist
theology to the life of the Christian community is to articulate women's
experience and ensure that it receives due weight in understanding and
communicating the Christian gospel. An awareness of women's or anyone else's
experience of oppression challenges all Christians to do what they can to
remove it, but the motivations for such action lie in the gospel itself, as
this can be adequately understood by all, and must be argued on that
theological basis, not in terms of the historical experience that alerted the
Church to the issue. It is a matter of Christian theology as such, not feminist
theology in particular. This has a more radical responsibility: to draw out
aspects of the gospel and its illumination of human experience which have
undoubtedly been submerged by the impoverishment resulting from the massive
male domination of Christian institutions and theological production.
Such theology must be done by women, and is one reason
why the training of women theologians, and their appointment to positions of
leadership in the Christian community, is a matter of some urgency. The famous
'principle of the unripeness of time' usually applicable in church politics
(since religion is one thing men and even women do with their conservatism) is
no longer applicable here. The gospel has to be heard proclaimed 'in a
different voice', to borrow the title of Carol Gilligan's important book, as
well as in the different languages of all nations, races and educational
levels. In Christ these barriers are overcome, but that means that the gospel
can be heard in many idioms, not that differences no longer exist, or can be
safely ignored. It is striking that at mammoth meetings of the Society for New
Testament Studies, behind whose formidable scholarly batteries stand much
practical Christianity and deep theological commitment, there is barely a woman
theologian or exegete to be seen. Even more shocking is the lack of much sense
of incongruity about this.
The point of an opening disclaimer renouncing any
intention of actually engaging in feminist theology is partly lest the title
raise false expectations, but partly also to justify paying little attention to
what has so far been done in this field, concentrating instead on how to do
what ought to be done. We are still witnessing the very early stages of
feminist theological interpretations of the New Testament and there is not much
clarity about how they might develop. Only one New Testament scholar has so far
made a major contribution. It therefore seems best to offer some distinctions
and propose some guidelines which can be discussed by all, and to draw on a
couple of texts and on the work of Elizabeth Schussler Fiorenza only to
illustrate the points made.
'Feminist theological interpretation' is an ambiguous as
well as a clumsy phrase, because it is not clear which of the two adjectives is
emphasised, or how they are related to each other. They could even be
contradictory, since feminism and theology seern to be more often opposed than
in agreement. The overlap implied by the phrase is a small corner of both
fields. Feminist interpretation and theological interpretation are different,
referring to different codes or frameworks in terms of which a text may be
read, and with that in mind the most natural exegesis of the combined phrase is
one that makes 'feminist theology' the code or framework in terms of which the
New Testament is being read. But that would better be called 'feminist
theology's interpretations of the New Testament'. That is still fairly
ambiguous, but it is clear where the ambiguities lie: in the phrase 'feminist
theology', which may be Christian, non-Christian or post- (i.e. anti-)
Christian.
The phrase here chosen to identify our interpretative
code, 'feminist theological', contains ambiguities of its own, as well as those
it shares with the phrase 'feminist theology'. But these latter can at once be
reduced by stating that only Christian theology is under consideration here.
That does not dispel the ambiguity, because both 'Christian' and 'theology' are
essentially contested concepts, but here too it is possible baldly to state a
position: Theology has to do with God who is worshipped, i.e. it is parasitic
upon some religion (since these are where God is named and worshipped), and
requires an adjective identifying the religious tradition and community to
which it belongs, however loosely. Christian theology is not to be confused
with philosophical analysis of the concept of God (though it may include that)
or with the scientific study of religion, which it also involves.
The distinction, despite overlap, between theology and
philosophy of religion has to be underlined because in a European Christian
context 'philosophy of religion' meant in effect 'philosophy of the Christian
religion' (still the name of a chair in Oxford) and was scarcely
distinguishable from Christians' natural theology. The echoes of this now quite
distant Christian culture encourage modern theological rationalism. In the
eighteenth century this could still express a Christian theology. Today it
actually subverts religion by failing to take seriously the character and
context of religious discourse. In a secularist and pluralist culture where
only religions speak seriously of God, and usually do so on the basis of a
claim to revelation, somehow enshrined or witnessed to in their tradition,
especially (where applicable) their scriptures, a more 'confessional' style of
theology is inescapable. The Christian religion refers to Jesus, its crucified
and risen Lord, as the decisive revelation of God; Christian theology unfolds
the response to that alleged revelation, and relates the rest of human
knowledge and experience to that decisive event.
The boundaries of 'Christian' are admittedly disputed.
The reference to a decisive saving revelation of God in Jesus is here taken as
the essential criterion, leaving open (for present purposes) the question how
it is rightly understood or best expressed. Some reference to Christian
community is also essential, and the boundaries even less clear. But the
confessional character of theology today, and therefore of theological
interpretation, is one of the terms of reference implied by our title.
Restricting these reflections to prolegomena to a
Christian feminist theological interpretation of Scripture means setting aside
(with respect) Jewish feminist theological interpretation. It is possible for
Jewish theologians to interpret the New Testament theologically, i.e. on the
assumption that it speaks of God, albeit heretically; but they would not be
engaged in scriptural interpretation, because it is not for them Scripture.
The boundaries of Christianity are harder to draw as
against 'post-Christian' interpretations of the Bible because these contain
some residue of Christianity and are in some cases clearly theological, albeit
(to orthodox ears) heretical. For all its frequently aggressive secularism
there is also a strong religious element in feminism which is sometimes
contained by and sometimes breaks the banks of existing religions. To call
'post-Christian' feminism 'anti-Christian' is brutal but honest. The Christian
community engages in healthy inner-theological conflict as disturbing new
insights are absorbed, dead branches identified and pruned, and corruptions
excised. The theological struggle of feminist Christians for what they consider
a better understanding and practice of the gospel is entirely legitimate so
long as they themselves remain open to challenge by the gospel at work in the
community (often proclaimed by males), and to self-correction as a result of
hearing it afresh. But to 'go out from us' (1 John 2.19, cf. 4.1), to leave the
(sectarian) community and label oneself 'post-Christian' is (apart from being
slightly superior and slightly precious) to risk abandoning the Christian
theological task by cutting oneself off from the usual channels of grace and
sources of knowledge of God. It substitutes the apostate's undifferendated
war-cry (Ecrasez I'infâme) for the reformer's theological zeal.
Both responses stem from the same perception of truth, but one is authentically
Christian, the other in principle anti-Christian.
Non-Christian interpretations of the Bible are not
necessarily anti-religious. The Bible is a public text, available to readers
who have no connection with a religious community. Feminists of any religion or
none may see propaganda potential in influencing the way such culturally still
influential texts as the Bible are read, and so propose feminist readings of
this material. But they will only be theological interpretations of the New
Testament if there remains some fundamentally positive relationship to
Christianity, however fractured. This does not exclude criticism of some of its
statements, as we shall see. But the criticised statements will be recognised
as inadequate statements about God who is worshipped, only within the ambience
of a worshipping community. When the religious frame of reference is abandoned,
theological interpretation withers, because theology is parasitic upon
religion. Not even corrupt and out-dated forms of ecclesiastical framework can
be abandoned without risk. For Christians, even strategic withdrawals are acts
of desperation.
All this attempted clarification of what is meant by
'theological' in our title would be equally relevant to an essay on 'feminist
theology's interpretation of the New Testament'. But the phrase 'feminist
theological interpretation of the New Testament' is intended to throw the
emphasis on the notion of 'theological interpretation' itself, and allow the
adjective 'feminist' to qualify that phrase, rather than to have the adjective
'theological' qualifying 'feminist interpretation'. The difference of emphasis
is significant for what follows. It means that our starting-point and essential
theme is not feminist theology or feminist interpretation, but theological
interpretation.
'Feminist interpretation of Scripture' might have
brought us to the same starting-point, because the notion of Scripture implies
a religious community finding in these writings reference to the God it
worships. 'The New Testament' is also a theologically loaded phrase, referring
to Christian Scripture. But that can equally now refer to the collection of
twenty-seven books which has a place in Western culture, regardless of
religious belief. It is therefore necessary to insert the word 'theological' in
order to make explicit that it is Christian religious use of the Bible that is
under consideration here, not the kind of biblical scholarship or feminist
ideology which make no reference to the question of God. Both these are
involved here, but as means not ends, means to Christian theology and practice,
not the equally legitimate goals of biblical scholarship or feminism.
'Theological' is not the only word in our title that
requires some explanation. Equally elusive is the word 'interpretation', which
switches the focus away from exclusively exegetical concern with the texts
being interpreted, and includes the other end of the interpretative act - the
persons engaged in it. This 'modern end' is important because interpreters have
their own aims and interests which only partly coincide with those of the
biblical authors, and because these may influence how individual texts are
read.
It is normal for biblical scholars to see their task as
avoiding such distortions and explaining what the text is actually saying, i.e.
what the linguistic conventions meant when it was written, not what some modern
reader would like to think it means. This is correct, and linguistic and
historical exegesis important. But when we ask why it is important, we find it
hard to claim that it is all-important. Responsible exegesis is important
because readers generally want to know what the text has to say. That is
particularly clear when the Bible is read by Christians, because they
presuppose it has something vital to teach them about God and the world,
something which they need to hear. A theory of meaning that emphasises the
creativity of interpreters at the expense of the content of the texts
themselves is in principle undesirable even if in practice unavoidable. A
second, more pragmatic argument for stable meanings, and against textual
indeterminacy, also applies to scriptural interpretation. Textual exegesis of
some, e.g. legal, texts is important because the community using them needs
some shared understanding of their meaning. The grammatical meaning provides
some basis for this.
Both these arguments for linguistic and historical
exegesis appeal to the interests of the modern readers. Exegesis is not
valuable purely for its own sake, but the readers, on whose account it is
important, may have a variety of interests in the text, not all of which
require historical exegesis, and some of which may imply a higher priority than
strict exegesis. Depending on how a text is used, other factors may affect how
it is understood. To take the legal example again: precedent is sometimes
important, and an authoritative ruling may determine how a statute is
understood within a civil community. The Bible seems different, because
Christians expect to learn something from their Scripture; it is not for them
(essentially) a law-book, even though it is often treated as such. But
Christians do have other interests and the exegesis of particular texts in such
a diverse collection of material poses problems. They look for a unity in their
canon, and they need to assume that it is true and reliable - factual errors
and moral inadequacies are a problem. Above all they need some kind of
correspondence between their Scriptures and their own religious system of
belief, and this has been a problem from the beginning for a movement whose
Scriptures were written by authors and edited in a community that had never
heard of Jesus.
As that implies, tension between what the scriptural
text is plainly saying, and what religious readers take it to mean, is not new.
Some of the ways in which theologians have handled and still handle this
difficulty will be found applicable in feminist theological interpretation of
the New Testament. But before these are considered the shape of the problem
itself needs to be clarified.
It is a problem liable to confront any ideologically
motivated interpretation of a very diverse collection of texts which is
regarded by the interpreters as an authoritative source of their ideology
(using that word in its non-pejorative sense). Marxists have problems with some
of the things Marx said, and Freudians with some of their master's comments -
both, significantly, in the light of more recently acknowledged feminist
insights. In the interpretation of Scripture it is essentially a problem of
theological interpretation. Christians are guided in their understanding of the
gospel by an authoritative Scripture, and therefore have an interest in what
the scripture actually says. Exegesis is therefore important. But even though
it is typically individual passages which make an impact, Christians are never
dependent on individual texts in isolation. They are dependent on their
Scripture as a whole, which contains a very large collection of texts. But if
they never see individual texts in isolation, neither do they in practice see
Scripture 'as a whole', in isolation. They always see it already interpreted,
and interpreted in terms of their own religious system. This kaleidoscope of
texts is open to an infinite number of possible combinations, some of which
yield Christian interpretations of the whole. These provide the lens through
which, or framework in terms of which, they read all the individual parts of
the bible.
Our problem is that of the relationship between the
Christian framework and the individual texts, some of which in isolation may
say things that contradict the framework. The reason this is a problem is that
the framework in some sense depends on the individual texts, so it is
impossible to reject many of these without eroding the framework, and weakening
the actual criterion by which they are rejected. The problem seems most acute
to Protestants because they insist on a very close relationship between their
Christian framework and Scripture, though even they do not identify their
framework with Scripture. Even fundamentalists work with a framework which has
been shaped to fit a certain way of reading Scripture. The major dispute
between theological interpreters is between those who think that every text
must be fitted to their Christian framework (biblicists) and those who feel
free to reject particular texts which conflict with this. The latter sub-divide
between those who try to limit the damage of erosion done to their scriptural
source (critical Protestants) and those who do not (liberals).
There is always a two-way traffic between the
interpreter's theological framework and the historical exegesis of particular
texts. The latter must be done as conscientiously as possible and be allowed to
challenge, perhaps even alter, the framework which guides Christians'
engagement with particular passages and their combinations of these with other
passages. Theologians have to maintain a delicate balance, respecting what a
particular text is saying, but also seeking to relate it to the larger system
they are trying to clarify and communicate. Most Christians' theological
framework is sufficiently supple to accommodate most of the New Testament
without difficulty, but occasionally an issue arises, such as feminism and
anti-Semitism in the West today, or totalitarianism, racialism, and the nuclear
threat, which makes certain texts suddenly appear highly problematic to
theologically responsible Christians.
Occasionally Christians may be persuaded by a particular
text, or rather a particular understanding of a text, to revise their
understanding of the gospel and what this requires of them. More usually their
prior understanding of Christianity will outweigh any difficult text.(1) The
theological importance of an exegesis which sets aside the larger Christian
framework and sees each text in its original context is that this can sharpen
the Church's listening to, and being challenged by, its Scripture. It can
dismiss some interpretations as implausible, and help keep theology a matter of
rational argument. But reinforcing the witness of individual texts and keeping
theology responsibly self-critical does not (or should not) negate the
interpreters' attempts to relate Scripture to their understanding of the
gospel. It makes their task more difficult, but not impossible. Those who
abandon the task as impossible, and stop trying to ground their Christianity in
the Bible, may unintentionally lead the church away from the gospel. On the
other hand, identifying the gospel with the letter of Scripture leads to
impossible contradictions and even to sub-Christian conclusions. A critical
middle way is needed, giving Scripture due weight but allowing us to question
what it is saying.
That is what critical theological interpretation aims to
provide, and since feminist theological interpretation is a form of this, the
problems and procedures will be the same. The first task is to describe the
interpretative framework, the second to allow this (as well as exegesis, with
its alternative, historical framework) to influence our engagement with
particular texts. 'Feminist-theological' implies a relationship between two
different frameworks of systems or belief and values: Christianity and
feminism. Reasons have been given for making Christianity the overarching
framework here, while expecting the feminist case to influence this. What
changes in Christian practice and belief (if any) the feminist movement should
stimulate is a theological question about the essential nature and future shape
of Christianity. This is debated and tested within the Christian community,
partly through its attending to its Scripture and tradition, partly through its
relating these to its on-going and developing experience, which includes the
growth of a feminist consciousness inside and outside the Church. The converse
question, how Christian insights might influence women's understanding of their
experience, is better left for women theologians to discuss.
The two-way traffic in which theological frameworks and
the exegesis of individual texts relate and sometimes collide, is part of the
process through which the impact of feminism on traditional understandings of
the gospel take place. But this interaction presupposes some preliminary
definition of the framework, to which we now turn.
Christians' understanding of Christianity, i.e. their
theological frameworks, are always provisional, open to new insights. On the
other hand Christianity does have some defining characteristics without which a
position can scarcely be deemed Christian at all. The claim that God, known in
the Bible and Church, is decisively revealed in Jesus, is definitive. To move
'beyond' these parameters (as anyone must who thinks them incompatibic with the
truth about human existence) is to part company with Christianity. But they are
fairly wide parameters and have in the past proved sufficiently flexible to
absorb new knowledge and moral insight. Their weakness has been that they are
too flexible to preserve the identity of a religious community, and have had to
be reinforced by further doctrinal clarification and institutional supports.
But for our purposes of theological exploration the looseness and flexibility
of this christological criterion is an advantage. The bottom line for
Christians is the revelation of God in Jesus, but the whole range of modern
knowledge and experience may be drawn into clarifying that, including whatever
is right and true in feminism, which itself is a matter of exploration and
experience, undertaken in a Christian context of listening attentively to
Scripture. In this process some aspects of the Christian tradition and also
some aspects of contemporary feminism may be confirmed, and other aspects of
both criticised, in the light of the gospel as this is heard afresh when the
tradition and the experience of the two movements are brought together.
If Christianity can be summed up in a sentence to
identify the overarching framework, so can the movement which is challenging or
claiming a voice in it. Feminism is women's struggle to be themselves, no
longer defined in terms of their (subordinate) relationship to men. The demand
for justice, especially equality of opportunity, and the keyword 'freedom', are
expressions of that aspiration, and many Christians would say that this much at
least corresponds to the good news of God that Jesus embodies.
But when Christians and other humanists say what they
think is involved in humans being their true selves, conflicting visions
emerge. Even such shared ideals as freedom and justice look different in the
context of different world-views. All of us are opposed to human bondage, but
different remedies imply different accounts of reality and different
assessments of the human predicament. Talk of conversion, reconciliation and a
relationship to God, implies a more pessimistic view of present realities and a
more optimistic view of human possibilities than secular humanism can admit.
Both sides value human freedom, but a freedom defined as the willing service of
God in the Spirit looks very different from Enlightenment autonomy. Even
justice, where Christianity has absorbed more of the Greek spirit, is far more
than distributive justice if the compassionate God is our final norm.
The differences, however, should not be overstated. The
Enlightenment owed much to Christian humanism, and modern Christianity has
accepted as much of the rationalist critique as seemed justified. By altering
some of its social and doctrinal stances it has both preserved the credibility
of its claims and ensured that the remaining differences express a genuine
alternative to the easy optimism of the age of reason and the bleak pessimism
which follows, not a series of fossils from now discredited world-views. In
this far from complete theological process, the encounter with feminism is
currently the most important arena for Western Christianity.
As a modern emancipatory movement the most obvious roots
of feminism lie in the European Enlightenment. They have not (as yet) produced
an independent religious, moral or political system. Feminism has developed
within the larger existing systems of modern Western humanism and has usually
expressed its positive values through criticism of existing social structures
and ideologies. Christianity and Judaism, even Marxism and psycho-analysis,
have been subject to insider and outsider feminist criticism, but always
piecemeal. They have not (as yet, anyway) been challenged by an alternative
feminist view of the world. The movement is therefore still best defined in
terms of what it opposes, namely the oppression of women and denials of their
full humanity. The visions of humanity which it affirms are developments of the
particular traditions in which it works as a leaven. When systematically
unfolded the ideals of Christian feminists and Marxist feminists vary and even
conflict. What unites them all is their opposition to a whole area in which all
the different humanistic traditions of the West fall short of their own
ideals.
If this is correct, it vindicates the decision to make
Christianity our overarching framework, and also suggests a political dimension
to the task of feminist theological interpretation. This interprets Scripture
in ways which will persuade other Christians to repudiate and resist
oppression. Christians say that the legitimate aspirations of feminism are
better expressed within the (corrected) Christian system than elsewhere, and
work to make that religious ideal a social reality.
But that leaves unanswered the crucial question of which
aspirations are legitimate. There is theological disagreement here, which the
Christian community seeks to resolve by listening to Scripture and reflecting
on its corporate and personal experience, much of which it shares with the
wider non-Christian world.
The critical area is evidently the relation between the
sexes, especially within marriage, which Christianity values highly, and has
some firm views on. The question is whether women's subordination is one of
these firm views, as some biblical texts suggest.
Before looking at any of these texts,
theologians need to be aware of their own Christian framework and the ways in
which it may be modified by the texts. Any Christian framework or understanding
of the gospel depends heavily on Scripture and may be influenced by the witness
of individual texts. It is shaped by a long history of tradition and experience
in which the Church's listening to Scripture has played a major role, but not
the only role. The texts are filtered through our understanding of the gospel,
even though in the process they might alter it. We approach the texts from
where and what we are, our beliefs and attitudes shaped by a variety of
factors. We can hold much of this in suspense, in order to hear what a text or
another person is saying, but in some contexts it is important not to deny our
preconceptions and responses. Some forms of address, including religious speech
and other invitations to share a life, such as declarations of love, or
challenges to one's value system, are directed at us so personally that it is
important not to relegate them to the level of interesting historical
information, even if the disciplines of historical method are necessary to
decode them.
The Bible does not have to be read in this highly
charged manner, and Christians do not usually read or hear most of the Bible as
personal address. It is enough to recognise that a passage might become such.
But that is the point at which it has most religious authority. The Bible
contains historical information and doctrinal data relevant to its foundational
role in Christianity, but a text is most powerfully authoritative for a
Christian at the moments when it is felt actually to mediate divine revelation.
There are different layers to the Christian use of the Bible. Both historical
information and symbolic vocabulary are important in several different ways.
But an individual text has supreme authority for an individual Christian only
in those critical moments in which insight dawns and God is acknowledged, an
event in which the believer stands himself or herself exposed. But they can
adduce considerations which may help others to share their own understanding of
the gospel and its relation to the text under consideration. What the text says
is then taken up into the more personal question of what it says to me. That is
subject to the necessary exegetical controls, but it is mainly influenced by
what the interpreter brings to the text. This means that in approaching a text
which seems to have some bearing on an issue (e.g. subordination within
marriage or equality of the sexes), general reflections on both the question at
issue and the gospel itself have priority, and may even override individual
texts. Our brief discussion of that critical area must start with such general
reflections.
Some differentiation of roles seems inescapable within
marriage, and appropriate elsewhere, on account of biology. But neither
child-bearing nor (typically) a degree of physical weakness implies
inferiority, or even subordination, since status cannot for Christians be based
on physical power. Partnership is self-evidently more appropriate in describing
Christian understandings of marriage than male (or female) domination. But is
it a partnership of equals, and what might that mean?
Equality is an Enlightenment ideal with less obvious
Christian antecedents than freedom or justice. Like toleration, it might be an
area where traditional religion can thank modernity for highlighting features
present in its own tradition, and for pointing it towards authentic
developments of that tradition. Equality of opportunity is implied by justice
and is uncontroversial. Equality before God is basic Christian belief.
Structures of domination can easily be shown to be contrary to the Christian
profession. But hierarchical structures, including the subordination of women
(at least within marriage), are not incompatible with notions of partnership
and are strongly written into the Christian tradition.
This seems to be a point where some Christians'
experience of marriage in the present-day West compels them to challenge
earlier views and to claim that modern assumptions about equality of the sexes
represent a moral advance. They cannot seriously entertain the notion that
wives are junior partners, or subject in. a one-sided way to their husbands.
They must therefore suppose that biblical passages enjoining subordination are
simply reflecting social situations that no longer obtain. They may admit that
the tradition contains a wealth of wisdom and experience, and should not be set
aside lightly. But any attempt to recommend patriarchy simply on appeal to
certain texts will be suspected of legitimating one's own interests or
preferences.
However, a simple appeal to experience is
as unsatisfactory here as a simple appeal to biblical texts. Neither is a
Christian theological argument unless it is based on an understanding of what
Christianity is, based as that is on both tradition (including Scripture) and
experience. Even if we make most of our provisional theological judgments
intuitively it is necessary then to argue a case for their being true to the
gospel. This includes appealing to the tradition and accounting for those parts
of it which support the opposite viewpoint. That is the spade-work of
theological interpretation. The adjective 'feminist' simply specifies a
particular area which developments in Western society and culture have placed
high on our theological agenda. Theological interpretation (feminist, other
liberationist, or quite different attempts to develop the tradition in the
light of new Christian experience of living the gospel) can be directed at any
part of the ever-expanding tradition. That is why 'church history' as well as
biblical studies can be a theological discipline. But clearly Scripture is in
principle the most authoritative and normative part of the tradition, and in
practice the most read or heard. Since Christians understand their experience
partly in terms of these texts (or some of them), it is particularly important
that they be heard in appropriate ways, and misleading passages challenged in
the light of the gospel.
The less our experience is comparable to that of our
ancestors, the less direct guidance Scripture is likely to provide, and the
more likely its models are to be misleading. That is one reason for theological
interpretation preferring theological argument about individual passages to the
'women's history' approach to the New Testament suggested by the hegemony of
historical study in modern biblical scholarship. It can also be argued that the
ways in which Paul's epistles are authoritative for subsequent Christianity do
not imply that first-century church history is authoritative. It is Paul's
symbol system which has become normative, and this can be (and usually is)
assimilated by Christians who do not know much biblical criticism. Christ
crucified and risen, as the decisive moment in which God was reconciling the
world, or God's saving righteousness having been and being revealed, and this
constituting a new covenant and community into which believers are baptised,
receive his Spirit, share his risen life, and look for his coming glory - these
are not necessarily matters for historical criticism. Historical study can
throw some light on the background of these symbols and so nourish our
reflection on them. It can also help justify our theological criticism of some
details. But its main contribution to theology is at the level of exegesis,
which benefits from historical understanding, rather than in New Testament
theology or symbolics, which is the Church's primary interest in these texts.
Since, however, in practice one of the ways in which Scripture makes its impact
is through its supposed historical models, 'feminist historical
reconstructions' of Israel and Christian origins have pragmatic value. But they
risk reinforcing a theologically unsatisfactory way of reading Scripture. The
most theol' jically valuable parts of Elizabeth Schiissler Fiorenza's important
book (2) are not (I suggest) her methodological arguments or her larger
historical proposals, but her engagement with particular texts. Such helpful
phrases as 'partnership of equals', 'discipleship of equals' and 'the praxis of
equal discipleship', which can today function as tests of Christian orthopraxy,
are (rightly) as much brought to the texts, as deduced from the
historical reconstructions.
Because feminist theological interpretation, rightly
reflecting some modern experience of living the gospel, is bound to be critical
of much of the tradition, it is worth sketching some of the ways in which such
'critical theological interpretation' (Sachkritik) has been done without
reference to new feminist insights. It is my contention that the same
procedures are relevant to listening for the gospel in Scripture, in the light
of contemporary feminist sensibility.
The main problem posed by the Bible for Christian
theology has always been how to make Christian sense of passages which seem
plainly sub-Christian. One solution is to adopt an alternative exegesis, which
is less offensive. Thus the 'little ones' to be 'dashed against the rock' in
Psalm 137 are referred by Augustine to the individual's own sins, which have to
be rooted out, not to Babylonian toddlers. This imposes a genuine Christian
meaning on a text whose true meaning is sub-Christian. But allegorical exegesis
has run into problems of plausibility in a more historically conscious age,
though at the personal devotional level, where no theological (i.e. public)
argument is being built, it is widely accepted as a legitimate device for
stirring the religious imagination. It never was 'hard' enough to support a
theological argument, as Augustine and Aquinas recognised, (3) but it provided
a way out of a difficulty which arose from the way scriptural authority and
inspiration were once understood. Today we accept that the production of the
Bible by fallible human authors and editors involves various imperfections, and
explain moral imperfections and other errors in that way, even though this
reduces the authority of Scripture and weakens its impact.
The point here (contrary to Origen) is that all Scripture has a literal
meaning, but it does not all have a Christian theological meaning. Theological
discernment includes recognising where a passage does not apply to ourselves,
and also when it does not, since some passages can lie dormant for
generations and then burst into theological relevance, as Galatians 3.28 has
recently done. While admitting that not all biblical texts are likely to
illuminate contemporary Christian experience, and insisting that to demand this
is to misunderstand the nature of the gospel and the work of the Spirit, we may
nevertheless add that it is wise for theological interpreters to look for such
illumination, because that is how reflection on biblical texts activates
theological reflection and motivates Christian responses. Possessing a
'Scripture' means keeping these texts on the theological agenda, even though
certain problems then remain prominent and procedures for handling them are
necessary. Occasional difficulties about the content of Scripture keep
interpreters awake, and Origen thought this providential.
Limiting the damage done by sub-Christian texts is
sometimes a matter of passing them over as not applicable. But where they are
appealed to in support of what we think perversions of the gospel, more drastic
action is needed. This can be positive or negative.
It is sometimes possible to neutralise dangerous texts
by suggesting a less offensive but equally plausible alternative exegesis. That
sounds corrupt, and would be if it were a matter of evading what the text is
saying. But sometimes it is simply impossible to be sure about that, and one
exegesis looks as good as another. The price of accepting this is again a
reduction in the text's power to sustain an argument. But again, that is only
one, relatively rare, function of Scripture. More usually Scripture works for
us by informing us, or else sparking insights in a process where the
interpreters themselves bring something to the production of meaning. Even
faulty exegesis can (happily) do this, though it must be abandoned when (if) it
is recognised to be faulty.
An example of this choosing the better theology is
Fiorenza's explanation of'on account of the angels' at 1 Corinthians 11.10:
'Since the angels are present in the pneumatic worship service of a community
that speaks "the tongues of angels", women should not worship as cultically
unclean persons by letting their hair down but should pin it up as a sign both
of their spiritual power and of their control over their heads' (p. 228).
Nobody knows for sure what the phrase means, and Fiorenza is justified in
choosing a plausible suggestion which happens to be more positive about women
in church than the idea of a Genesis 6 echo (which may possibly reflect some
male exegetes' unconscious desires). Women have spiritual power, not just
sex-appeal. Not surprisingly, this route of choosing the least offensive
plausible exegesis is mostly taken by conservative Protestants who wish to
maximise the relevance and authority of Scripture. Liberals may even prefer the
exegesis that is more difficult for theology, as part of their short-sighted
campaign to reduce this dependence of the Church on Scripture.
Theological interpretation generally seeks to relate
individual texts to their original historical frame of reference and to the
interpreter's own theological framework. The theological difficulty of some
texts can be reduced by careful attention to their historical context. The
situation and context may extenuate an offensive remark or reveal that the
author's concern was not that of the interpreter. Paul is not promulgating a
dogma of women's subordination in 1 Corinthians 11.2-16. He takes it for
granted, but does not argue it in terms of the gospel itself. Conversely, the
theological fruitfulness of other texts is reduced by a better exegetical
understanding. Job 19.25 cannot be used as an argument for the resurrection of
Jesus, though it can still be read by Christians (with Handel) as an evocative
pointer to that. Modern exegetical methods have significantly advanced the
Church's on-going reflection on its Scripture, but this has necessitated a more
precise account of the different ways in which Scripture can be used.
One complicating result of modern history of traditions research is that
we see some texts as multi-layered. This greatly increases the exegetical
possibilities, because we can sometimes ask what a text meant to its final
editor(s), and what at earlier stages of the tradition; including, in the case
of the Gospels, what some sayings meant to the historical Jesus. Since this is
usually rather speculative, it again fails to carry much weight in argument.
But there is something artificial about B.S. Childs' suggestion that only the
final canonical level has theological authority. Jesus has more authority than
Matthew, though (arguably) Matthew and Luke more than their hypothetical source
Q. The potential contained in history of traditions research for criticising a
biblical text in the (half-)light of earlier forms of a tradition is fruitfully
illustrated by Fiorenza (pp. 143-6). Luke's redactional addition of 'wife' to
the list of relations a disciple might have to leave introduces an androcentric
bias into Jesus' saying (compare Luke 14.26 and 18.29b with Mark 10.29b).
Again, behind Mark10.2-9 and 12.18-27, Fiorenza argues, Jesus in effect
criticised patriarchal marriage. She thinks the point of 12.25 is abolition not
of sexual differentiation in heaven but of the patriarchy sustained by levirate
marriage.
These examples are not all equally persuasive, and
feminist or any other theological interpretation is a matter of using rational
arguments to persuade others to read an authoritative text one way rather than
another. These examples all involved an element of rationally justified
criticism of the text as it stands. They have therefore prepared us for the
most drastic way of dealing with texts which seem sub-Christian: simply to
reject them as incompatible with one's understanding of the gospel.
Interpreters here allow their own rational judgment, moral sense, and
understanding of the gospel, informed as this is (in part) by Scripture itself,
to provide the criterion by which a particular text is judged, and judged
negatively.
Only a biblicist who identifies the gospel with
Scripture, or asserts the infallibility of Scripture, can forbid this in
principle. But others are rightly wary of cutting off the branch they are
standing on, or killing the plant in pruning it, or disposing of a valuable
branch. Too easy a rejection of the witness of a text loses its capacity to
challenge one's (always provisional) understanding of the gospel. But there is
no contradiction in both appealing to Scripture as a whole and yet challenging
particular passages. To those who would like to see Matthew 27.25 expunged or
Psalm 137.8-9 etc. placed in brackets, the warning of Revelation 21.29 against
excisions is germane. But theological criticism is not surgery. The offending
texts continue to be heard and questioned. But reasons are given for suggesting
that they are wrong, and to be discounted by Christians. The interpreter's
theological convictions here outweigh the individual text. How often this can
happen without doing unacceptable damage to the authority of Scripture is a
further question.
The theological criticism of individual
texts, here defended in principle, offers a middle way between biblicism and
the liberal tendency to give contemporary secular experience decisive weight as
against Scripture and tradition. That perennial confrontation between
conservative and liberal theology has surfaced again in the distinction between
'biblical feminists' (mainly Evangelicals),(4) and 'liberal Christian
feminists'.(5) The middle way is both evangelical and critical. It reflects
Earth's Sachexegese (exegesis concerned with the theological content),
as corrected by Bultmann to include Sachkritik (criticising individual
texts in the light of that same theological content). It emphasises the
Christian dependence on Scripture, but insists that Christ, not Scripture as
such, is the decisive revelation of God, and that contemporary experience plays
an important role in our apprehension of Christ and the Spirit in Scripture.
Some Evangelical theology seems to be moving in this direction, while still
retaining a strongly biblical shape to its framework.(6) Other Christians
travel more lightly, maintaining an orthodox (incarnational) framework, but
willing to consign more of the tradition to the history books.
Theological interpretation is best done by studying
individual texts because these are what make a direct impact, not the (more or
less helpful) constructions of historians and biblical theologians. Exegetical
study clarifies the witness of each text, but the relationship to the
interpreter's framework is decisive. Here, as in moral theology, 'conscience is
always to be followed'. Unless wrestling with a difficult text actually changes
our understanding of the gospel (which is very rare) this prior understanding
will carry most weight. In our second example a problem text has in the last
resort to be overruled. But theological interpretation, the context in which
the impact of feminism on Christianity is here being set, also underlines
passages which seem to offer positive support. In both cases the historical and
exegetical debate about what a text might have meant to the writer is taken up
into theological reflection about how it is best to be understood today.
'There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is not slave nor
free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one person in Christ
Jesus.' Galatians 3.28 demands to be given considerable weight because in
context it looks like a doctrinal statement concerning the very nature of
Christianity. But the question of its possible meaning for Paul, and for modern
interpreters, is complex, involving exegetical arguments and even a theory of
religion, because what Paul meant by 'in Christ' can scarcely be articulated
without one. If the exegetical debate is inconclusive, this does not matter.
Theological interpreters can live with exegetical uncertainty. The debate helps
them look at the text from several angles, increasing the possibility that
connections with their own understanding of the gospel may crystallise, and the
text thus nudge them in a Christian direction, maybe even supporting action
which Paul himself did not take.
Paul's theological language is today perhaps best
understood in the context of a theory of religion as a system of symbols.(7)
The critical question for the modern Christian reader is how far the symbolic
language of the gospel contained in Scripture should be shaping social
realities today. Some think it only meaningful when it is changing the world.
At the other extreme it is possible to confine it to the believer's personal
relationship to God, without revolutionary, though not without conservative,
social consequences. Paul is clear that there is a strong relationship between
at least some of his symbolic or theological language and the social realities
of the community. The whole point of his epistle is to persuade his hearers to
draw practical conclusions from his theological argument about Torah no longer
applying in the new creation in Christ, or new age of faith and the Spirit. Tn
Christ' such differences as Jew-Gentile, slave-free, male-female, do not exist,
whatever the situation in the Roman empire. And his argument is that the
empirical church should correspond at the social level to the symbolic or
theological reality, not to the empirical realities of the world outside Christ
- at least so far as the then current issue was concerned.
But Paul draws no such radical conclusions from his
parallel symbolic statement that in Christ there is no 'male and female', and
what he writes in 1 Corinthians suggests some ambivalence about this. He does
draw some conclusions elsewhere from the abolition at the symbolic level of
slave-free, though not the radical conclusions which most Christians now see
implied by it. That implication of the Christian gospel only became
self-evident when the time was ripe, and even then at first only to a minority
- who set out to persuade others. To many Christians today it is equally clear
that Paul's repudiation of social, racial and gender distinctions at the
symbolic level must have social consequences also with respect to gender. It is
not possible to deduce this from Scripture. Being led by the Spirit in
listening to Scripture is less mechanical or logical than that. Inspiration
involves imagination as much as reason.
Neither is it possible to infer what the consequences
should be. These require further theological discussion, stimulated by exegesis
of the scriptural tradition as well as by contemporary experience. But the way
Paul came to his conclusion about Gentiles is instructive for contemporary
Christians thinking about a different, though seemingly parallel issue.
Paul knows already that Gentiles can be Christians
without being circumcised or observing the food laws. He has seen it done, and
this reality has found symbolic expression in his new theological framework.
But he has to persuade others, and that requires rational theological argument
from tradition (especially Scripture) and experience. His opponents have a
strong case based on tradition, i.e. Scripture. The law of Moses was, after
all, God-given, and Jesus the Jewish Messiah. Gentiles were now coming in as
prophesied, but presumably they must be circumcised. Even Abraham, having
believed, went on to be circumcised.
Against this, Paul knows he is right, and that to accede
to his opponents' demands would be to surrender the freedom of life in the
Spirit, which the gospel of God in Jesus had established. But he needs a strong
argument, rooted in the nature of the gospel, and providing an alternative
reading of the tradition. He starts from his understanding of the gospel and
will not allow Scripture or tradition to override that (unless persuaded he is
wrong), but he still needs the tradition, without which his gospel can be
neither expressed nor believed. Religious talk of God generally depends on a
previously existing tradition. It is therefore necessary to interpret the
tradition afresh in the light of his understanding of the gospel.
Paul's argument from Scripture looks weak (or
unintelligible) to anyone not already persuaded, and familiar with rabbinic
rules of exegesis. But what seems to the modern historically-trained exegete
arbitrary is not so distant from how Scripture is usually heard by Christians:
isolated texts can stir a religious response, including sometimes a
theological, reflective response. Paul finds support for his conviction in a
handful of texts, seized on to construct a fresh reading of the tradition.
Genesis 15.6 and Habakkuk 2.4 (and only those two texts) associate right-ness
with God with faith, and in them Paul finds support for his understanding of
the new relationship to God in Christ. In the course of his discussion he let
slip a remark, barely germane to his own argument, which some modern
theologians have in a similar way seized on to support what they think is a
Spirit-led modern growth in Christian insight: 'There is no male and
female'.
They may be right in believing this. The Church has to
keep chewing on the text and on other tradition and new experience until the
truth of the gospel becomes clear and the right way forward found in a
particular dispute such as the terms of admission for Gentiles, divorcees,
homosexuals; the abolition of slavery, apartheid, social and ecclesiastical
hierarchies; the ordination of members of groups excluded in sections of the
Church (in Greece, those who cannot sing; in Rome, married men; in Alexandria
and later canon law, eunuchs; in Hippolytus' part of Rome, slaves; in England
(at the time of writing) those who have married a divorcee; in Wales, remarried
men; in some Christian churches, all women). On none of these or other
contemporary questions does Scripture give ready-made answers. It is not a set
of instructions rendering superfluous the promise of the Spirit leading
disciples into all truth. The Church does not need proof-texts to authorise or
prohibit new developments. It dares to experiment and discern which
developments in thought and practice are authentic expressions of the gospel,
and which are not. A single text may help crystallise new experience into an
expression of the gospel, and so give a nudge to new developments.
Galatians 3.28 has for many proved suggestive in this
way. It does not provide an unambiguous argument for ordaining women. Paul was
not discussing that, and Scripture is not a collection of proof-texts which can
by-pass the interpreter's understanding of the gospel. But we may hear it as
gospel when we attend to it in the light of our provisional understanding of
this. One form of that is experienced when our study of a text takes off into a
sermon. Exegetical controls are still important, but the connections then being
made are with other things in the interpreter's knowledge and experience, not
(essentially) with the historical context. It is not historical learning that
speaks of God and makes a biblical interpreter into a theologian, though this
can help teach her to be a critical theologian.
The argument about the ordination of women, for example
(and it is important to focus theological interpretation on specific issues
sometimes), is not settled or even appropriately introduced by appealing to
Scripture. The argument is firstly about the enrichment this will bring to the
ordained ministry, both in understanding the gospel from a wider experiential
base, and in the quality of leadership. It is also about the possible
distortion (not merely impoverishment) of such an unrepresentative ministry as
a single-sex one appears today. Granted the obvious reason for going ahead, it
is secondly necessary to ask 'Why not?' - or 'What prevents?' (cf. Acts 8.36).
The arguments from Scripture apparently marshalled against Paul's innovation
(8) by opponents whom in retrospect we judge to have been blind to what the
Spirit was now doing new, are instructive here. There is thirdly the question
of timing, which held William Temple back in 1917. It is related to, but not to
be confused with, the question of the truth of the gospel. Paul's guidance on
the weak and the strong is relevant here, as is his refusal to allow
concessions to weakness to be twisted into denials of the freedom of the gospel
(Rom. 14, 1 Cor. 8-10).
In these discussions the Church seeks as always to listen for the gospel
in Scripture. The inconclusiveness of some exegetical argument can help keep
the texts in the forefront of discussion. All the important points about
Galatians 3.28 are plain to any thoughtful reader of Galatians, but the
specialist debates of New Testament scholars(9) offer a few extra arguments to
both sides of the current controversy, and so hold the text up to on-going
scrutiny while contemporary reflection on the gospel matures.
The discussion aims to throw light on what Paul means by
'no male and female'. One option is to stress the parallel with the other
phrases, and since sexual, social and racial distinctions still exist in the
real world, to argue that Paul is saying no more than that all are equal in the
sight of God. Against this, he is clearly arguing for a correspondence between
what is the case 'in Christ' and policies adopted in the Church. However, he
does not argue for these in two of the three areas mentioned, and this makes
the verse's meaning uncertain. Attempted solutions centre on the probability
that Paul in this verse is quoting a baptismal liturgy; on the probable echo of
Genesis 1.27 in the switch to 'male and female'; and on the significance
of his dropping the phrase at 1 Corinthians 12.13 and (if by Paul) Colossians
3.10. It is possible that the (hypothetical) original formula considers
distinctions that carried weight in the old order abolished in the new. Even
Paul can say that 'in Christ there is new creation' (or 'a new creature': 2
Corinthians 5.17), and some of the Corinthians' behaviour would be explicable
as unisex implications drawn from such a belief. Jesus also may have been
understood to deny gender difference in the new age (Mark 12.25), which the
Corinthians apparently thought they had already entered.
It is instructive that Paul can (probably) quote a
tradition that he is not entirely happy with, and also in effect criticise it.
Modern interpreters do the same. But there is no need to follow this discussion
through to any conclusion, because the point is that this will still be
doubtful, and that even if it were strong enough in principle to bear
theological weight, opposite conclusions could be drawn from it, some arguing
that Paul had reservations about the liturgical tradition, others that he
quoted it anyway. Neither side can draw clear guidance for today, but in the
course of discussing the passage from every possible angle, Christians looking
for the meaning of the gospel in their present local situation may grow in, and
come to, the agreement they seek.
At least they can be freed from misusing Scripture in
such a way that awkward texts block Christian growth in insight, as when
fundamentalists deduce from 1 Corinthians 14.34 that women should not preach
(or read the lesson?) in church. 1 Timothy 2.12 is a more serious problem,
because less unclear. It is no help to say it is not by Paul, or that 1
Corinthians 14.34 is possibly an interpolation, because they remain part of
Scripture. The reason for theological criticism of 1 Timothy 2.11-15 is that
theologically speaking (i.e. from the perspective of contemporary Christian
faith), it is nonsense, dangerous nonsense, and nonsense on stilts.
Modern theologians convinced of the equality of the
sexes must give reasons for discounting those texts (10) which support the
subordination of women, reasons based on their understanding of the gospel,
which in principle includes their whole understanding of reality. We may
conclude with another problem text.
1 Corinthians 11.2-16 is so riddled with exegetical
ambiguities that it would in any case be difficult to draw from it firm
conclusions about hats or hairstyles, should one wish to do so. But sexual
differentiation is insisted upon in an appeal to nature, reinforced by an
appeal to scriptural tradition. If anything is warranted by this passage it is
sexual differentiation, and as it contradicts the hypothetical pre-canonical
meaning of Galatians 3.28, it could reasonably be appealed to against this, if
any such neutralisation were necessary. Unfortunately, in the course of casting
around in Scripture and experience for arguments in support of what he knows is
right as well as expedient, Paul introduced the note of subordination that is
frankly incredible to many Christians today. That is present in verses 3 and 7,
whatever is meant about the angels in verse 10. Even when the supporting
argument of verse 8 ('for a man is not out of a woman but a woman out of a
man') is discounted as not helping the case, the offending statements stand,
though only as a supporting argument, unable to claim the weight to be accorded
to the passage's concern with sexual differentiation. They stem from Paul's
culturally conditioned mental furniture and can be set aside without
disagreeing with his understanding of the gospel. Unlike Galatians 3.28 they do
not belong intrinsically to an argument about the nature of Christianity. A
further cause of relief is verse 11, where the note of reciprocity qualifies
the subordination with an insistence on partnership, as at Colossians 3.19.
Another is verse 16, where Paul in effect admits that his arguments lack
cogency, and falls back on to an appeal to his apostolic authority and general
Christian custom. So the note of women's subordination is present, but it
cannot be allowed to outweigh our understanding of the gospel, which in the
experience of many Christians today demands a new respect for the equality of
the sexes.
These brief remarks, bypassing a number of exegetical
problems, are intended to suggest that awkward passages can be challenged by
critical theological interpretation (whether feminist or any other kind)
without denying what they are saying. Their force can be relativised and
minimised by setting them (so far as this is possible) in their original
context. But the nub of our argument has been to resist a biblicist approach to
Scripture while insisting on the centrality of Scripture for hearing the
gospel. The gospel is the criterion by which Scripture is assessed, and if
necessary we may with Luther 'urge Christ against Scripture'. The biblical
theologian who was prepared to do that attended as closely to Scripture as
anyone. But he was a theological interpreter, and that means a critical
interpreter, one who can tell the difference between the law (or tradition) and
the gospel, namely Christ. If a feminist can do that 'she can thank God and
know that she is a theologian'.(11)
NOTES
1. The best discussion of this whole area is D. Kelsey,
The Uses of Scripture m Recent Theology (Fortress and SCM,
1975).
2. In Memory of Her (SCM Press, London, 1983).
3. Summa Theologiae, 1.1.30, citing Augustine, Contra Vincent,
Donatist. 48.
4. See K. Keay (ed.), Men and Women and God (Marshall, Morgan and
Scott, Basingstoke, 1987).
5. E.g. E.S. Fiorenza, Rosemary Reuther, Phyllis Bird, Phyllis Trible,
Bernadette Brooten, A.Y. Collins, C. Osiek. See A.Y. Collins (ed.)
Feminist Perspectives on Biblical Scholarship
(Scholars Press, Chico, 1985) which includes Jewish contributions.
6. E.g. Andrew Kirk, 'Theology from a Feminist
Perspective' in K. Keay, op. cit.
7. C. Geertz's essay on 'Religion as a Cultural
System' (1963), reprinted in The Interpretation of Cultures (Basic
Books, New York, 1973), is influential in recent theology.
8. Cf. C.K. Barrett, Essays on Paul (SPCK, 1982) pp. 154-70.
9. See D.R. MacDonald, There is no Male and Female
(Fortress, Philadelphia, 1987) for a full discussion of the
alternatives.
10. See also Eph. 5.22-4 and the discussion in J.P.
Sampley, 'And the Two Shall Become One Flesh': A Study of Traditions in Eph.
5.21-33 (Cambridge, 1971). 1 Pet. 3.1 is less of a problem because not
theologically underwritten.
11. Weimar Ausgabe Vol 40, 1; 207, 17f., changing
the gender. See G. Ebeling, Luther (Fontana, 1972), p. 111. Chapters 6
and 7 are as important for the argument of this essay as is the practice of my
other hermeneutics teacher, Ernst Kasemann, whose position on this is usefully
explained by B. Ehler, Die Herrschaft des Gekreuzigten (De Gruyter,
Berlin, 1986), pp. 7-155.
Return to After
Eve
Support our
campaign
Contemporary
theologians
Join Campaign
activities
Go back to home
page
Join our Women Priests' Mailing List
for occasional newsletters:
An email will be immediately sent to you
requesting your confirmation.
Please, credit this document
as published by www.womenpriests.org!